Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 19282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 96(@200wpm)___ 77(@250wpm)___ 64(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 96(@200wpm)___ 77(@250wpm)___ 64(@300wpm)
I had the desk moved into my office before lunch, and I can’t stop patting myself on the back for the solid idea. Definitely one of my better ones—like kissing Mila when she tried to tell me that the baby wasn’t mine. Besides the fact that the timing was right, and she’d been a virgin when I took her, even if she’d been impregnated by another guy, the baby was mine. Science be damned. Possession is nine tenths of the law. I have Mila and the child she’s carrying in my hotel, in my office, and soon, in my bed. That’s my woman and my child.
“But every time the phone rings, I can see you stop what you’re doing and stare in my direction until I hang up. That can’t be good for your productivity.”
“Do you have a mirror in your apartment?”
“Do I what?” Her brows come together.
“A mirror.”
“I have a mirror in my bathroom and one hanging over the closet door.”
“They must be defective then.” I stroll over to her desk and tip her chin up with one finger. “I stare at you because you’re beautiful and to make sure you haven’t disappeared.” I rub my thumb over her lower lip slowly. “And to remind you that I exist and that we will be having sex very soon.”
She pulls away from my grip, the color on her cheeks high. “Like I told you after you mauled me downstairs, we are not sleeping together again. You’re my boss, and I’m your secretary. I need this job.”
“You have the job.” I plant myself on the side of her glass-topped desk.
“I have a job now, but after you’re done with me, then I’ll be fired and my ass will literally be on the street with this baby.” She picks up her stapler and jabs my thigh with it. “Now move.”
“I told you that I’ll take care of you. We’ll get married. You can have half. The baby will be taken care of. Your problems are gone.” I am already in the process of having a bank account set up with her name on it with enough cash she’ll never have to worry about money again. It should be done by the end of the day. Having that done was quicker than updating my will, which will take a few days, my lawyer informed me. I wanted to have something in place in case she ends up killing me by the end of the day with her death glares. Dead or alive, she and my baby will never want for anything.
“Yes, you did say that, and I’m sure you’re being sincere, but things change, Archer. People change. You do know the divorce rate in Las Vegas is the highest in the world, right?”
“I’m not planning on divorcing you.”
“Good. That plan will come to fruition because we aren’t going to be married in the first place.” She swats my thigh with the stapler until I slide off her desk.
“I suggest you get used to the idea of being Mrs. Archer Valentine.”
Her hand stops midway to the phone. “Your last name is Valentine?”
“It is. I’m glad you like it. It’ll be your last name, too.”
“I never said I liked it!” she growls.
She’s so adorable that I want to pinch her cheek, but I know if I do, she’ll probably slap me. It would be deserved, so I bite my tongue and return to my desk, where I spend the next half hour pretending to review a contract for a big residency the hotel is hosting this fall but actually watch Mila answer the phone, make appointments, send off emails, and sign off on deliveries. She’s very good at her job. I would’ve hired her if she was the worst secretary in the world, but she’s quite competent—enough so that I don’t feel guilty not doing much else but observing her…and planning our wedding.
I haven’t planned any weddings before, but I do own a hotel in Vegas, which means I have access to designer goods, food, florists, justices of the peace, notaries, and even our own printing press where we mint our “Valentine Dollars,” among other things.
Getting a wedding organized here takes nothing more than an email to the head wedding planner. The only thing I need from Mila is a list of guests, which she won’t give me outright since she has this idea that we aren’t getting married so I’ll have to figure it out by other means.
I shoot off an email: “We will need to send out baby announcements. Please give me a list of names.”
Her chair creaks as she shifts in my direction. I don’t need to look up to see the glare in her eyes. I can feel it.
“We do not need to send out baby announcements. No one does that anymore.”